Impulsive Judgments
by andrastaie
Summary: Unable to sleep, Nathra Lavellan begins to reconsider her hastily made judgment on Samson.


Judgment had long passed since the morning, yet Nathra felt no peace in her decision. In fact, she lay awake able to think of little else. His words curled around her mind like a viper. Samson was not wrong. This simple statement of fact repeated over and over in her head, worming it's way to her core.

_"Do as you will, Inquisitor. Your kind always does."_

Her kind. Nathra scowled as she stared up at the ceiling. The implications of the statement burned in her mind. She grunted and tossed her blanket off in frustration. Sliding out of the bed with little grace, she pulled a tunic over her head and slipped a simple pair of dark breeches on. Barefooted and copper locks free of their braid she slipped away from her chambers silently.

The trip across Skyhold and down to the dungeon was a silent one. Dancing in and out of the shadows to avoid the nightwatch, Nathra descended the long stairway to her destination. One guard stood watch, leaned up against a stone pillar near the center of the main hall. Picking up a loose pebble, she tossed it across the room to draw attention away. Sliding up behind the guard, she pressed a palm to his temple and cast a sleep spell. Careful to catch the guard's arm, she eased him down onto the stone. Slipping the keys off his belt, she went deeper into the dungeon. Samson was not difficult to find. He was the only prisoner residing in Skyhold's dungeons. Such as they were.

"Come to add insult to injury eh, Inquisitor?"

"No."

Nathra inched forward, a frown tugging at her lips. He snorted, shaking his head. She stopped at his cell, crouching down and wrapping her long delicate fingers on the bars. He sat in a corner, eyeing her from his hunched position. When Nathra said nothing, he squinted at her.

"Come to watch the caged beast, then?"

"I came to see the man. The one that was not in my judgment hall." She tilted her head, moonlight glinting off her eyes for the barest of moments.  
"And what is it you expect to find now, Inquisitor?" he asked. "I am no less the man I was earlier."

Nathra's gaze narrowed. "That is not what I've heard." Stories fluttered through her mind's eye, tales woven by Varric of his time in Kirkwall. Stories that involved Samson. The fallen templar. A man reduced to begging for his next meal, his next lyrium. Yet he'd aided mages fleeing the Circle. Had done the right thing in the face of blood mages.  
Samson chortled. "Heard wild tales of me, have you?"

"Even I can see you are a good man, Samson. Why did you agree to it? Why did you do it?"

He met her questions with silence. Not even a derisive snort, or a hollow chuckle. Nathra moved to stand when Samson found his voice.

"I was a Kirkwall guttersnipe crawling after lyrium, and Corypheus gave me back my sword."

She looked back at him, trying to read his expression. But he merely seemed resigned. He sat up a bit, watching her.

"I'd have been a fool to say no," he continued. A long, defeated sigh left his lips. "I was a greater fool for saying yes."

Nathra's ears drooped just a bit at the implication in his weary tone. She looked down at her hand with the keys, tensing only a moment as she made her decision. Standing then, she unlocked the door to his cage and pressed it open as it creaked in protest. Samson's gaze narrowed, yet he did not recoil as Nathra took her first step inside the cell.

"I…" she trailed off. She clenched and unclenched her jaw as she stopped in front of him. "You don't deserve this."

He snorted, a bitter laugh bubbling up. "What's it matter, Inquisitor?"  
She bowed her head downward, nostrils flaring as she stared at the cold stone. "It matters because you were right."

Samson made a strangled choking sound. Her ears twitched in surprise and she looked up. But by the time she caught sight of him, he was shaking his head. He made no move to respond, instead he remained ever careful in avoiding her scrutinizing gaze. Nathra ventured closer, dropping to her knees to straddle over his one outstretched leg. Still Samson refused to look at her, eyes downcast and a sneer on his lips.

"Not about following Corypheus, of course," she said. Her gentle, awkward laugh echoed off the stone walls of his cell. "You were mad to do that." She paused, inhaling a steadying breath. "But… my judgment was hasty." Nathra folded her hands in her lap, sitting back on her heels as she stared at him.

"And?" he prompted.

His nostrils flared as he finally cut his gaze up to her. Nathra's long ears twitched again. _I've been among these shemlen too long._ The thought pressed against her mind and she pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

"I will not hand you over to Kirkwall." She released her nose and blinked at him. "You will serve m- the Inquisition. For as long as you live, your place will be at Skyhold."

He did not miss her stumble, smirking up at her. "My final reckoning, is it? Serve the Inquisitor faithfully until the lyrium burns a hole through my skull?"

Her fingers curled slightly as he spoke, a ghost of a nod given in answer for him. He snorted in laughter. "Pretty, pragmatic," he leered, "_and _an elf. How do the masses stand it?"

Nathra did not move for a long time, instead watching Samson through the dim light. When the silence became awkward, she rose abruptly. Sparing him one last glance, she muttered about making arrangements in the morning for his accommodations, and then locked his cell door behind her on the way out. Nathra took less care on the return trip to her room, her heart lighter and shoulders freer.

This decision would please few, but at least she finally knew she'd done the right thing. Nathra was done placating those around her, vowing to lose no more of herself to this mad quest to save the world.


End file.
